


kiss me again, with blood in my mouth

by natehsewell



Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Soft Adam du Mortain, injury mention, it's just... pure soft adam content actually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:53:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27689917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natehsewell/pseuds/natehsewell
Summary: After a mission, Adam tends to the Detective's minor injuries.
Relationships: Female Detective/Adam du Mortain
Comments: 5
Kudos: 43





	kiss me again, with blood in my mouth

**Author's Note:**

> written for a prompt on tumblr. Winona and Adam, but make it tender.

They’re in Adam’s bathroom, the rest of Bravo spread out across the Warehouse, working out that post-mission haze in their own ways. He’s got her seated on top of the counter, and her knees knock the sides of his hips as he comes to stand in front of her.

Of all their rituals, this one’s the most profound. It is, Winona realizes, not unlike baring your throat. It’s a matter of trust, of faith. _I trust you, with a knife between us. I trust you to hold it at my back and not sink down._ Or maybe it would be more accurate to say teeth.

She counts her injuries in her head, one by one. Closes her eyes and makes a list of the aches. The tang of her own blood in her mouth, from where a lucky punch had knocked the flesh of her lip into her teeth. It’s swollen now, and it’ll purple by tomorrow. Her knuckles sting, skin split and raw. The apple of her cheek still throbs dully. When she inhales, a bruise pulsates at her side, and in her mind she can see it bloom across the landscape of her body, magenta and green. The scent of blood clings to her nose. 

She can only imagine how it is for him, and not for the first time she wonders why he insists on doing this. Silently, of course. Adam demands nothing from her except what, ultimately, she is willing to give. And a full-chested part of her loves it. No one has ever cleaned her cuts, tended her wounds, counted her bruises for her or washed the blood from her face. This kind of intimacy is new, and it spreads warm under her skin.

Still, it would be easier, no doubt, to let her slink into her own space with the first aid kit and her pride, and let her tend to her fresh badges of fragile humanity alone. But he doesn’t. Maybe it’s his own way of making up for the time they lost, trying to untangle the threads that tied them together.

Adam’s hands do not tremble, sturdy on his wrists as he takes her jaw in hand, the lightest of touches to tilt her head back. In his other hand, he clenches a damp rag. There’s a glass bowl of clean water at his side, filled from the sink. 

A hard line of concentration digs at his brow, but if he struggles with the sight of her blood, dried tight on her lip, he says nothing. A part of her wonders if he does it to test his own will, but she knows better than that. Adam wouldn’t stand in front of her like this, if he didn’t have confidence in his own control. 

No, this is something different. It’s for her, maybe--a silent way of proving that though he is dangerous, she is not in danger. Or maybe it’s for him. That she is dangerous, in her own way, but he is not in danger. 

Regardless, that animal instinct to _run_ doesn’t hit her, when his focus turns to her minor wounds. Trust. Complete, and total.

“You did well today.” He murmurs, drawing the rag to her lip, first. He washes the dried blood away with a kind of tenderness she never would have known he was capable of before, in light, careful strokes. It stings, but she doesn’t hiss, and she doesn’t flinch. His thumb caresses her jaw almost absentmindedly, brushing to and fro. “How did this happen?” 

“Lucky shot.” She says, trying to keep her lips still. His hand gently presses upward, and she turns her head in that direction. “You should see the other guy.” A grin, pulling her lip raw. She hisses, and he draws his hand back. 

“Don’t.” A quiet command, one she doesn’t mind following, relaxing her mouth. 

He dips the cloth into the water, then brings it back, dabbing away. “I did.” He sighs, but she could swear there’s a glint of pride in his eyes, focused as they are on her mouth. “All five of them.” 

“Worried I’m gonna beat your record, old man?” Winona mumbles. His rhythm stumbles, and their gazes lock. 

His tight frown loosens, slides into a deadpan look. Dry unamusement in the half-mast turn of his lips, nose curling a little. She sinks her teeth into her cheek, desperate to restrain a wry grin. “Hardly.”

“What is it, like, twelve?” She scoffs, but keeps her tone light, playful. Watches for any flash that she’s hit a real nerve. Finding none, she continues. “I’ll get there.”

Almost without thinking, Adam scoffs, “triple the number, and you would have a start.” 

“Okay, _liar,_ ” she says, pulling her chin from his hands. Adam follows, wrapping his hand around the back of her head instead. “When did you fight thirty six guys all at once?”

“I said a _start._ ” 

“You’re totally bullshitting me.” 

Adam makes a small _tch_ noise, beckoning her back, and she relaxes her head back in his palm, allowing him to return to what he was doing. “When have you known me to be a liar?” 

Winona flattens her face out, arching her brow up. Gives him a knowing look.

Adam stares back, unimpressed. “It was necessary at the time. And I did not know you then.” 

“Uh huh.”

He lets out a long-suffering sigh, and she knocks her knee to his side, as a way to remind him she’s only joking. Then she curls her calf around the bend of his own, to remind him that she loves him, and wants him near.

Adam does not smile. But he wants to, a flicker of it ghosting at the corner of his lips, reaching his eyes. 

He dips the cloth in water once more, and she notes the faintest pink tinge to it now. “Give me your hand.” Another command, but it’s soft and delivered with care, with affection, and she gives in easily. The first three knuckles flush darkly, surrounding split skin in shades of red, like cream and roses. The blood around the wounds doesn’t give at the first touch of warm water, but after a few moments, her knuckles are clean and pink. 

Adam’s watching his work, but she’s watching him. The slight furrow between his eyebrows, cutting a groove there. Everything he does, he does to the fullest, completely engrossed with a kind of dedication she admires, a kind of dedication she knows she doesn’t have. It’s amazing, and at times a little terrifying. She likes it best when she can make that concentration waver, turn his focus to her.

The next few moments pass in silence. He repeats the same motions on her other hand, his touch always light, delicate. Cradles her the way he would a wine glass, the pads of his fingers soft on her skin. Every once in awhile, he draws his thumb across the top of her hand, and her fingers curl around his palm, clinging, close.

“There.” He says, placing her hand in her lamp. Winona sits still, as he reaches across the counter to flip open the first aid kit, grabbing first a few packets of the antiseptic wipes, and a roll of pristine, white bandages still in the plastic. They only keep the damn thing around for her, she knows, and she can’t tell if she should be flattered or embarrassed that he had it on hand.

Then again, he’s always prepared for anything. She should stop being so surprised. 

“Ugh, I hate this part.” She grumbles as he tears the first packet open.

“Then you should be more careful.” He chides. The fact that it took him this long to say that is slightly impressive. Or maybe he’s just finally given up on being anything other than woefully resigned to her proclivity for injury. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever--” 

He slides the wipe across her knuckles once, twice, not letting go when she hisses and jerks back. Again, on her other hand, and she stills for this one, better prepared this time for the pain.

“You did that on purpose.” Winona grumbles, and Adam finally smiles--the slightest curve of his mouth.

“Did I?” 

“To shut me up.”

“I would never.” He says drily, unspooling the bandages, white as snow and long in his hands. 

Right as he reaches for her, though, she pulls back. “Wait a minute.” 

Adam’s head snaps up, confused.

“You forgot one thing.”

A couple of different emotions sweep across his face. First, he looks to the first aid kit, then to the bandages in his hand. Concern. Worry. His eyes flicker up, to the side, as if he’s trying to remember what he forgot. What step he missed--and she requires so much, doesn’t she? Achingly human. Press down on the skin a little too hard, and it tears like paper. And he is always so careful, so, so careful it almost hurts. 

Sudden affection bursts through her, leaving her flushed, smiling. Winona can’t name another person who has ever cared for her like that, so she hopes he’ll forgive her when she asks for a little more.

“You’re supposed to kiss it.” She says, holding out her hand. The intention is teasing, but her words come out sweet and warm and doughy in her mouth.

Adam stills. Then sighs. “What?”

“Kiss it better.” A jerk of her wrist, and he catches it, automatically sliding his fingers under hers, like one of those period films. 

“And is there a practical reason to do such a thing?” Despite the low curtness of his tone, he draws her knuckles closer, stepping up until his hips hit the counter. His eyes gleam with teasing lightness. 

Her mind blanks momentarily, lost in depths of green, loving and hers. “It, uhh… helps it heal. Faster.”

“Is that so?” 

“Yep.” Her voice cracks, cheeks flooding with heat as he leans down, his lips brushing her knuckles, soft as butterfly wings.

“Then it seems I have no choice.” 

And he kisses just atop her hand, mindful of the delicate injury there. Her heart kicks into a run, banging on her ribcage in rapid leaps that skip when he kisses her other hand. Then turns her wrist to press his lips to her palm, staying there for a moment, eyes shut and face open, balmy with love. 

And she loves. The whole of it fills her up, leaves her fit to burst with the love of him. 

“Satisfied?” Adam murmurs, her palm still cradled in his hand like a dove, his gaze lowered and soft.

Taking a moment to breathe, Winona finally grins, pointing to her mouth with her free hand. “You missed one.” 

“Ah, of course. My mistake.” He nods, smiling fully now, a hint of an adorable dimple in his left cheek. 

She’s not burning, not yet, but when he takes her chin between his forefinger and thumb, draws her close and keeps her near, his arm curving around the bend of her waist, she thinks she will. He kisses her, sweet as summer in her mouth, and it’s alright if she burns, glad enough if she can keep him warm.

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on tumblr @dumortainava to talk about the emotional support vampires


End file.
